Loss
by dustie-snark
Summary: This is my angsty way of dealing with the unspeakable events of late.  Oneshot for now, might turn into a story later.


**A/N**: _ I own nothing, because if I did... well, things would be quite different. Spoiler alert, clearly, for Season 3. This is my way of dealing with the unspeakable; it's just a one-shot for now, but there might be a plot brewing for later._

_This is just an angsty ramble about what Michael would feel when/if Lincoln ever gets the cojones to tell his brother the sad, evil truth. _

"Mike." His brother shifted, looking increasingly uneasy. "Michael, Sara…" He paused again, and swallowed hard.

Michael felt his stomach lurch. Nothing… nothing could've happened to Sara. She had made it so far, had fought so bravely, had lived through torture, been miraculously reunited with him not once, not twice, but three times…

He'd finally told her he loved her.

Her voice rang in his memory. "I love you." In the last moments he'd seen her, in the midst of her tears, and full of fear for the future, she had still managed to reassure him.

She was fine. She was being held hostage, but they'd never actually _do_anything to her, because they knew that she was the hinge of all his actions. They wouldn't be so foolish as to harm her.

His brother looked up at him, and Michael felt his blood run cold to see actual tears in Lincoln's eyes.

"They killed her, Michael," Lincoln whispered, as if to actually speak the words made the reality all too clear.

He actually saw stars begin at the edges of his vision. His lips felt numb, but he forced out, "Wh—What?" He felt a distant sense of surprise at how hoarse his voice sounded.

His brother's voice sounded as if it came across a tinny telephone line. "She's dead. Sara's gone."

Lincoln wondered if he should reach out, give his brother something to hit. He was concerned at the sudden stillness opposite him, and swore he actually felt the atmosphere get colder.

When Michael looked up, Lincoln felt like weeping at seeing that the light in his brother's eyes was gone. He looked… Lincoln shuddered. He looked dead inside.

He asked one question. "How?"

Lincoln shook his head. "No, Michael. You don't want to know."

"How, Lincoln?" His voice was cold, harsh.

"They… it was an execution."

Michael nodded, but didn't really hear his brother. He felt the tightness of his throat, the soul-clenching agony clawing to get free, but he also felt fury burning deep inside. Sara was gone. He'd never see her smile again, hold her again… never truly _be_ with her. Anguish and rage were fighting for dominance, and he wasn't sure which would win.

When it got truly awful in this hell-hole, whenever it became nearly unbearable, he'd forced himself to concentrate on seeing her again, on finally taking her on their date. He'd plotted a thousand different nights, hundreds of different endings to their story, all ending with her staying with him for eternity. They would have retired somewhere tropical, and he'd have put flowers in her hair. Till Death parted them when they were old and gray, after they'd raised a clan of little hellions together.

And now the son-of-a-bitch had preemptively struck, had taken her from him, had ended their story before it even truly began. He was surprised to feel wetness on his cheeks, and realized that tears had been silently falling.

The anger coiled within burst into flame, and at once, his thoughts began taking a new course. This time, he was plotting how to make them pay. They would regret this move. They'd thought he was a force to be reckoned with before, just wait. If they thought that taking her from him would send a message, he'd send one back.

Lincoln knew the instant his grief turned to wrath, knew his brother was on the warpath. He smiled grimly. It was time to settle the score.

Michael looked up at his older brother, strength renewed. They'd both loved and lost, and now they only had each other. The world would recognize them as an unstoppable force.

First on his List was That Bitch Susan, then, by God, he would make those bastards at The Company pay.


End file.
